


Equinox

by scullyseviltwin



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-10
Updated: 2005-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:12:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyseviltwin/pseuds/scullyseviltwin
Summary: Even as she loomed over him, lithe and catlike, he hated her. She didn't answer him, simply kept moving on him, sighing and moaning and making him hate her...





	Equinox

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Equinox**

**by: ScullyAsTrinity**

**Character(s):** CJ, Toby  
**Pairing(s):** CJ/Toby  
**Category(s):** Angst  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Summary:** Even as she loomed over him, lithe and catlike, he hated her. She didn't answer him, simply kept moving on him, sighing and moaning and making him hate her…  


"Why does it always happen like this, CJ?" 

Even as she loomed over him, lithe and catlike, he hated her. She didn't answer him, simply kept moving on him, sighing and moaning and making him hate her. Her skin tasted like promise but her eyes glistened like abandon. He couldn't see beyond them; he couldn't see beyond them because she wouldn't let him. 

The sheets were Egyptian cotton, the finest, and they were currently becoming saturated with their combined sweat. They were fun to touch, a good object to focus on when he couldn't look at her eyes. 

Her hair ticked his chin when she bent to kiss him; he almost turned away from her lips, but gave in at the last second. She was amazing-he loathed her. He loved her. 

Afterwards, he asked her again, as she lounged naked on her deck; it was July in DC and the humidity curled her hair around her face in ticklish little waves. She was smoking one of his finer cigars, just puff, puff, puffing away. He asked her, his voice too smoky to define any sadness, "CJ, why does it always happen like this." 

Her neck craned when she turned to look at him. Sweat still clung to his chest and forehead, and he glistened like a sated man trying not to bask in the afterglow. Oh, but he was basking in it, hating her. "It happens this way, Toby," she drawled, taking another long pull of the rich tobacco, "Because you won't let it happen any other way." 

He wanted scotch, something neat, something hard. If he went and got it though, it would be like every other time. It would end with him washing the taste of her out of his mouth with expensive booze. Toby wanted her there, wanted to be able to taste her every single day. 

"Scotch?" She asked, holding out the bottle for him to see, the moon shining on her damp skin. She was wrapped in those warm cotton sheets, the sheets that smelled of the two of them. They were pooled at her waist, her breasts on display for the apartment complex behind her. He didn't care, didn't care about the press or the sight she presented. She was glorious under the Dyad Moon. 

It depressed him, made him think of the real implications-the time of the year when two became one, when one finds the perfect other. When opposites balance in perfect harmony. God, she wasn't perfect, far from it and that made her so delectable, so perfect for him. 

"No," he said, but even he didn't believe the tone of his voice. Moving forward onto the sixth floor patio and into the moonlight, he snatched the scotch from her hand. It was a moment of pure oafishness on his part when he drank straight from the bottle; it wasn't the civilized way to drink, but then again he hadn't set out to enjoy the aged flavor, he was drinking it to numb himself. 

They were both incredibly indecent in the open air of the district and it licked their skin salaciously, like an old lover. Neither cared. Toby didn't mind that his beard was sticky with CJ and CJ didn't care when she leaned over and sucked on his beard, pausing before sucking on his lips. It was all utterly torturous... and he wouldn't have had it any other way even if she had bothered to ask. 

She'd never bother to ask; she either didn't care or cared too much-which, he didn't think he would ever discover. 

"Is this going to change?" He asked her, another swig from the bottle washing down his words. 

She toyed with the nearest hem of the sheet. "Are you going to change?" 

"No," he replied, the bottle resting between his knees, his hands clamped just above the skin of his thighs. 

CJ smiled, nodded and snatched the bottle from his thick hands. The swig she took was long and sexy and made him want her neck... again. "Then no, Toby. This isn't going to change." 

The scotch settled in both of their bellies as they looked out over the city at the moon; it may pull the tides, but it would never pull either of them together. 


End file.
